


Once, Before

by Gerec



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mind Control, Obsession, Rimming, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody loves Charles as much as his step-father Kurt, and Charles can't help but crave his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once, Before

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote half of this for the XMFC/DOFP Porn Battle, before I realized that the challenge doesn't allow underage characters (and underage sex). So unfortunately I won't be able to post it over on DW, though hopefully OP will still see it here!
> 
> Prompt: Kurt Marko/Charles Xavier, obsession, trust, virginity

You’re eleven years old when Mother brings him to the house to meet you.

He is kind, smiling at you as you shake his hand, his grip warm and rough. You don’t trust him, not at first; you think he’s being nice to you just to please Mother. And though he listens attentively as you speak - about your love of science and the theories of Einstein while Mother leaves to get a drink – you’re still wary. You know lots of people who pretend to care because of Father’s money.

When you use your powers on him (not too much you’re still learning to understand it and control it) you are surprised by what you see. He is genuinely pleased to meet you, and finds you smart and charming for someone so young. There are other words too…beautiful, perfect,  _soft_ …words that no one has ever used to describe you. Not even Mother and Father.

It makes you feel good. And you think finally, someone likes you just as you are.

(He doesn’t want to run tests on you. Or ignore you because it hurts to look at you.)

*

You’re twelve years old when Mother marries him, and he moves in to live with you both at the house.

He takes you to the park, and the museum, and helps you with your homework. Your memories of Father don’t hurt quite so much, now that you have _him_ in your life. Mother is content to leave you two alone; somewhere in her alcohol soaked misery she is glad that he’s there to take care of you. (So she doesn’t have to.)

He says ‘I love you’ and you say it back without thought. Because you _do_ love him. And no one has ever loved you like he does.

When he hugs you and kisses your forehead, you blush – though you are secretly pleased. He is the only one who touches you; Mother doesn’t like to be touched, by anyone.

The staff know better than to get too close.

He takes you to the beach, just the two of you, and you spend the day swimming and laughing under the blue summer sky. At night you wade into the deep, dark water and he holds you close, brushing a kiss against your ear that sends a shiver down your spine.

‘Why’ you ask, and you don’t have to explain. He knows you so well already; he can read your every thought.

‘Because it makes you happy,’ he says, ‘and it makes me happy too. And there’s nothing wrong with that.’

*

You’re thirteen years old when he starts pushing you away.

He stops taking you places, and starts coming home later and later from work each night. He is still affectionate with you, hugging you and patting you on the back, but only when you initiate contact. It makes you alternately sad and angry; why is he doing this? Was it something you did? Something you said? What can you do to fix it?

It keeps you up nights, obsessing about him and how to make things right. You almost use your powers on him again but then you remember your promise – to always go to him and ask him first. So you wait up for him in the study and you don’t let him leave, demanding answers as he scowls and refuses to look you in the eye. You get angry, and you’re close to tears from frustration but then the expression on his face changes. He pulls you close and you cling to him, his arms around you as he whispers in your ear. He’s sorry, so sorry for hurting you. He doesn’t want to hurt you anymore.

He kisses you, his lips on yours, his tongue sliding in your mouth as you gasp in surprise. You don’t move, unsure what to do – no one has ever done this to you before. It’s a little strange, but nice as he deepens the kiss, and now you’re moaning against him, clutching his shirt as your head spins from the rush.

You feel guilty, because he’s married to Mother, but mostly because you want to do it again.

*

You’re fourteen when he lays you on the bed and touches you, because you need this and kisses are no longer enough.

You’re in his room (not ‘theirs’, Mother moved into the suite in the other wing months ago) spread naked on his bed, his lips on your neck and his finger inside you. It feels so good, and you writhe when he moves, sliding his finger in and out as he peppers kisses on your face and the freckles on your chest. He does this every night for a week, licking your nipples until they harden into peaks; putting his mouth on your cock as he works one finger in your hole, then two, then three.

On the last night he opens you up with his fingers _and_ his tongue and you blush with your whole body, even as you grind down for more. He tells you you’re beautiful, and perfect, and so _soft_ , and you cry out as you come, his fingers still wedged inside you as he swallows every drop.

You whimper, and he kisses you, licking your lips and prying your mouth open, sharing the taste of your seed with you as he strips off his shirt and underwear. He says he loves you and you believe it, and you tell him to please fuck you now, please. You don’t want to have to wait another moment for him to have you.

He crawls on top of you, between the legs you’ve spread wide for him, and smears his cock with something slippery and wet. He asks if you trust him and of course you answer yes, and tug at him impatiently to move. You whimper when he finally pushes in, feeling so full when he slides the head of his cock inside you, fucking you open. He waits for you, kissing you and worrying a bruise on your collarbone, until you relax enough for him to push some more, hard and thick and relentless.

You keen when he’s all the way in; it’s so much better than you ever expected. He starts slow, rocking gently as he murmurs words of endearment, and you’ve never felt more precious or loved. There isn’t an inch of your body he doesn’t try to reach with his hands and his lips, kissing and stroking you as he fucks you on his bed. He slides an arm under your knee and the angle changes, your cock swelling again as he hits something inside you that makes you throw your head back and groan. 

It feels so good you don’t even notice that he’s picked up speed, and now his hips are slamming against your ass every time he pulls out and dives back in. You bite your lip to keep from crying out too loud, but he tells you he wants to hear you (and he’s sent everyone away so there’s no one to hear). He fucks you even harder now, and god you think he’s going to split you in two but it’s worth it because you’ve never felt anything like this and then you’re coming again, just as he’s spurting hot and slick inside you with a satisfied grunt.

After, he puts you in a warm bath and rubs your sore muscles, and tells you how amazing you are and how much he loves you. That he’s glad he’s the first to love you this way, because he wanted it to be perfect.

It was.

But then he’s telling you that he should stop, because he’s being selfish and you deserve a ‘normal’ childhood. That you are growing up too fast and perhaps he should send you away to boarding school for your own good, to make friends your own age. You protest, with words and kisses both, until he promises not to bring it up again. At least not for the rest of the night.

(You end up doing other things, the conversation all but forgotten as he teaches you how to please him with your mouth.)

*

You’re fifteen and there’s no more talk of sending you away. (He sends Raven away instead.)

He tells you he still feels guilty, because you’re so young, but he can’t help how he feels. And you always tell him the same thing; that you’re not sorry at all that he loves you.

When Mother dies (and you cry, because she’s your mother and you loved her, even if she couldn’t love you back) you spend the night in his arms, and you don’t sneak out in the morning. Some of the staff ask after you, but he reassures them that you’re fine, that you just need a shoulder and sends them on their way. You help with your powers, telling them your relationship is perfectly normal, and to never worry about it again.

They don’t.

You no longer limit the sex to his bed, choosing to make love wherever and whenever the mood suits you. He fucks you on the couch in the study, completely nude with your legs in the air as the gardener mows the lawn outside the open window.

He fucks you on the kitchen counter, the cabinets rattling when you knock your head against the wood, his cock stuffing you so full you hardly notice the pain.

He fucks you outside on the manicured grounds, your hands and knees stained green from grinding down on the soft grass, his hands leaving bruises on your hips.

But mostly he fucks you in his office, sitting in the leather chair that belonged to Father, making you bend over the big oak desk. He slides your underwear down to your knees, hands caressing your thighs and your buttocks, tongue buried inside you as he makes you squirm. You sigh, and he groans, and he doesn’t stop licking and fingering you until you’re panting and sweaty and desperate for more.

He pulls you onto his lap, burying his cock inside you with a grunt. You ride him, and he helps, lifting you up as you slam yourself back down with abandon, over and over until you scream and come, shooting your load across the glossy wood finish. He pushes you over then, your chest smearing wet and sticky with your own release, and fucks you like a man possessed. You watch him through his eyes as he pumps his hips, spreading your ass cheeks as he takes you apart. You see the way your hole clenches, red and swollen around his cock; feels the way he shudders when he finally lets go, filling you up with a wordless growl.

(You remember, as he’s pulling out of you, that you used to love sitting on Father’s lap too while he did his paperwork.)

*

You’re barely sixteen when he dies in a laboratory accident, and you’re inconsolable for days.

Cain comes home for the funeral, and there’s only the two of you when they lower him into the ground. The lawyers come and go, and the staff try to help, but you don’t want any company and send them on their way. You tell Cain he’ll always have a home here; that you're his family, the only family he has left.

That night you take Cain into the master bedroom, and make him fuck you on the bed.

*

You’re seventeen when you get into Oxford, and you pack yourself and Raven for the trip across the Atlantic.  

Your studies keep you busy, though not enough to forget what (or who) is missing from your life. Raven tries to distract you, and for the most part it works and you are grateful that you’re not alone.

Some nights, when it gets unbearable, you tell Raven you’re studying late and you head to a bar for relief, however temporary. You go down on them, or you let them push you up against the wall and fuck you, but it’s never what you want. Not exactly.

And it’s never enough.

You find yourself searching for traces of him in every man you see – the glint in his eye, or the calluses on his hands. The way he kissed you, deep and devouring yet full of tenderness and naked desire. The way he always told you he loved you, like no one did before, and no one else since.

You stumble across him quite by accident, the new English professor with the same height and a similar build. It’s close enough that you instantly want him, and you find yourself coming up with excuses to meet him outside of class. Soon the two of you are sharing a cup of tea in his office and he’s reciting poetry that he’s teaching his students and you wonder what it will take to push him over the edge.

In the end, you follow him to the pub, and you let him buy you a beer and then you nudge him with your telepathy to take you home. He kisses you (and you don’t have to make him, he wants nothing more than to kiss you) and then you let him bend you over his big wooden desk and fuck you and fuck you until you can barely stand.

‘You’re beautiful’, he breathes, ‘so perfect, so _soft_.’

And you smile and answer, ‘Yes, so I’ve been told. Once, before.’

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Then, Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387871) by [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris)




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